Governing Magazine/April 1994

FEATURE: PROSTITUTION

THE WAR AGAINST THE SEX TRADE

A new wave of police crackdowns and community activism isn't getting
rid of prostitution. But it may be driving it indoors.

By Andre Henderson

After 15 years of living with prostitution, the residents of
Milwaukee's Merrill Park neighborhood were fairly sure they had seen
everything: female residents out for an evening walk being
propositioned by strangers in cars; drug dealers moving in to serve
the prostitutes' drug habits; children playing alongside needles on
the sidewalk and mistaking discarded condoms for toys.
 But they had not seen it all. For Merrill Park, prostitution brought
with it something incomparably worse. It was from among the local male
prostitute population that mass killer Jeffrey Dahmer selected and
enticed his victims. Had Merrill Park not become a haven for
prostitutes of both sexes, the whole Dahmer case could not have
unfolded there.
 What is ironic about Merrill Park is that it is not only a community
that had been victimized by prostitution but one that had fought back
hard. A citizens' group called Residents Against Prostitution spent
years working with Milwaukee officials and getting tough new laws
written onto the books. Fines for soliciting were upped to $1,000, and
the district attorney agreed to suspend plea-bargaining and force
tougher sentences on customers.
 "If they tell us we don't have the laws to stop it, we go out and get
the laws passed," says Marlene Cone, who helps coordinate Residents
Against Prostitution. "But if they're not used, they are ineffective."
 Merrill Park learned in an extreme way what urban neighborhoods all
over the country have been learning a little less dramatically: It is
possible to turn large numbers of residents of a community into
activists on the anti-prostitution front. It is possible to get laws
passed. And it is possible to win some tangible short-term victories.
It is just very hard over the long run to get prostitution to go away.
 In 1992, in America, there were 96,200 prostitution-related arrests,
an increase of nearly 18 percent over 1991 and a reflection of
stepped-up law-enforcement tactics virtually everywhere. More and more
communities are trying the demand-control method, a strategy that
focuses on embarrassing the customers out of the neighborhood rather
than harassing the prostitutes off the street. City budgets for
prostitution control are growing significantly.
 Communities are organizing themselves to fight for change, and there
is no question that some of them have cleaned themselves up. In the
aggregate, however, prostitution in America is not going away or even
declining. The one thing that can be said for demand control and other
new anti-prostitution weapons is that they are moving a significant
proportion of the business indoors--and off the streets, where it
generates the most offense.

Prostitution is a $20 billion industry in the United States. Between
500,000 and 2 million prostitutes are at work around the country right
now, depending on whose figures you use. Some experts think the number
is increasing; others say it is merely holding steady. But virtually
no one argues that the number is going down. It is universally agreed
that the vast majority of prostitutes who are arrested do not leave
the profession. They just shift to another street or move to another
community--or join another, less conspicuous sector of the trade.
 What clearly is going up is the amount of money, and the proportion
of their budgets, that police departments are spending in the fight
against prostitution. In 1985, one survey of the nation's largest
cities found that they were spending an average of $12 million on
prostitution control. Although there is no comparable survey for the
1990s, it is generally agreed that the amount is considerably higher,
even in real dollar terms. New York City estimates it spends $10
million a year just on arraignment procedures connected with
prostitution.
 "It's like a balloon," says Patrick J. Murphy, director of the police
policy board at the U.S. Conference of Mayors and a former New York
City police commissioner. "It'll pop out in one place, then you go and
correct that and it relocates and pops out in another place. It's a
supply-and-demand problem: There's an enormous demand from men willing
to pay the price, and there are women willing to meet the demand."
 It is the consensus around this point that has fueled the interest in
recent years in the demand-control approach. Where police in most
places once tended to let the customer off scot-free, they are now
focusing on him. In many ways, he is a better target. The customer,
unlike the average prostitute, has a fixed address--a home, usually in
the suburbs. He must climb in his car and drive to the city if he
wants company. And he is generally otherwise law-abiding. It is
relatively easy to turn the customer into a wanted man and bring him
to justice.
 Portland, Oregon, was the pioneer in the demand-control approach.
Back in the mid-1980s, Portland decided that its traditional policy of
harassing streetwalkers was accomplishing nothing. Arresting officers
earned appearances on the TV show "Cops," but the prostitutes just
migrated into other areas. Then, in December 1989, Portland deployed a
tool from the drug wars and began seizing the vehicles of customers
caught propositioning undercover officers. Although controversial for
its timing--as with the property of drug dealers, the cars were seized
before trial--the tactic struck a nerve with the public for its kick-
butt approach.
 In the 2 1/2 years after that policy was initiated in Portland, some
605 patrons of prostitutes found themselves without wheels, and when
the media caught on, other cities took notice. Today, Chicago,
Philadelphia, Detroit, Milwaukee and Hartford are among cities that
have followed Portland's lead in targeting "johns."
 There is no doubt that it can be a powerful weapon. Getting a car
taken is a traumatic experience for the owner. Seizure hits him right
there on the street--few penalties are awarded so swiftly--and in the
wallet. Perhaps even more painful, getting a vehicle released usually
requires the signature of all names on the registration, often
including a spouse or other relative. In most cases, only a small
percentage of the cars seized are permanently confiscated. "Our
intention is to stop the problem, not to build a used-car lot," says
Portland forfeiture analyst John Hunsperger.
 There is, however, an alarming tendency for the effects of a seizure
policy to recede with time. No one is quite sure why this happens. It
may be because the media, which tend to give heavy coverage to the
early seizures, often at the behest of police, eventually lose
interest. It may also be that the prostitution business changes to
attract a new kind of customer who either doesn't use a car or doesn't
care about losing one. Whatever the reason, the tactic does lose its
potency.
 Hartford is a good example. In the early days, seizing cars there
yielded big dividends. "It virtually eliminated prostitution in that
area," says Lieutenant Tom O'Connor, commander of crime analysis. "I
don't mean reduced it. I mean ended it." Now prostitution has surged
again, and the threat of vehicle seizure no longer seems to deter
customers. "Today's seizures would not in any way approach the impact
of what we had before," says O'Connor.
 Attacking demand by seizing property also can present legal problems.
Not all seizures stick, because judges often refuse to slap first-time
offenders with such a stern penalty. Legal challenges to the seizure
laws in Hartford and St. Paul resulted in their being overturned;
further seizures stalled until the legislatures approved laws that
could stand up in court. Suffolk County, New York, for example,
rejected the idea of seizing vehicles after the county's lawyer said
it would be illegal without state approval.

Vehicle seizures are the most dramatic and probably the most
cumbersome element in the effort to get at prostitution through
demand. Others are more subtle. New municipal offenses, such as
"loitering with intent to solicit," target the customer while he is
still in his car--something traditional laws did not do. In Milwaukee,
drivers even suspected of seeking out prostitutes can receive hefty
citations. The judicial system can comply by curtailing plea-
bargaining for prostitution-related offenses, forcing customers who
expect a slap on the wrist to face more serious charges. The wallet-
wise thinking that brought car seizures has also jacked up the
financial penalties for propositioning. Among the cities to raise
fines for soliciting is Washington, D.C., to $1,000.
 Other areas are employing more creative touches to control demand.
Johns who are caught in West Palm Beach, Florida, must attend group
counseling sessions with prostitutes and other embarrassed customers.
This comes after having their names published in the local newspaper,
a tactic that is becoming common in many communities, although police
cannot tell newspapers to print the names of johns and in general
refrain even from endorsing the practice. In Methuen, Massachusetts,
residents patrol in cars, videotaping customers who drive through the
neighborhood. Those tapes are then turned over for police scrutiny.
 If there is one agreed-upon success story in the new anti-
prostitution movement, it is probably St. Paul, Minnesota. There,
"block clubs" in hundreds of neighborhoods report their concerns to
the city council and to anyone who will listen. Because these clubs
have the ear of the press, politicians are among those who pay
attention. When prostitution gained visibility in the late 1980s,
police took to the neighborhoods on foot, then in 1991 began seizing
vehicles. Arrests for prostitution dropped from 245 in St. Paul in
1990 to 75 last year--against the trend of increase virtually
everywhere else. Those numbers are significant in a city that prides
itself on livability and neighborhood feeling and is highly sensitive
about the subject of vice. Not long ago, St. Paul's reigning super-
madame embarrassed the mayor at a charity auction by posting the
winning bid on a lunch date with him. Not everyone in St. Paul finds a
situation like that funny; the declining arrest numbers seem to
satisfy many that the problem is closer to being controlled.
 But what does the control consist of? The evidence seems to be that,
as in other places, women are not retiring from prostitution, they are
simply relocating--in the case of St. Paul, relocating across the
river to Minneapolis. "The prostitutes moved. They told us they can't
work here," says Lieutenant Nancy DiPerna, head of the St. Paul vice
unit. Whether the St. Paul offensive has reduced the level of
prostitution in the Twin Cities metropolitan area--let alone in the
state or the country--is doubtful.
 Nevertheless, it is well documented that an effective demand-control
program can relocate streetwalkers out of a community. They are as
profit-conscious as Main Street businessmen, and they will leave an
area if it receives enough "heat" to stifle business, even if they
themselves are not disturbed. Taking two or three tricks, earning $60
a night, is not economically viable for a prostitute with a family or
a drug habit.
 That control of prostitution can often amount simply to relocating is
a fact that police are well aware of. "Some of the best methods police
use," says Patrick Murphy, "are to put wise, experienced police on the
street who think, `We know we will never eliminate prostitution but
should do our best to make it invisible.'"

If invisibility, rather than eradication, is a worthy goal, there are
genuine signs of progress. Prostitution is not disappearing in
response to the demand-control movement--not even slowing down. But it
is, to a certain extent, changing form to evade the new law
enforcement techniques. Experts say that street prostitution today
represents only 10 to 20 percent of the sex trade, considerably less
than a decade or two ago. Some of these lightly camouflaged forms of
prostitution, such as massage parlors, have been around since the
1970s and continue to flourish in many places. They have been joined
in the 1990s by the escort services and the agencies that provide
"models" for live lingerie viewings or photography shoots.
 Portland, home of the car seizure laws, is witnessing prostitution
evolve rapidly through the institution of strip clubs. There are more
than 60 nude dancing clubs in the city, an increase from only five in
1987, and despite reports of illegal activity, police do not have the
manpower to gather evidence against prostitutes in every one of them.
A corresponding growth in the number of massage parlors and lingerie
modeling studios is also posing problems.
 In Indianapolis, officials discovered how lucrative the escort
business has become only when an audit revealed that just one of the
city's 100-plus escort services had the required license. Although the
mayor has promised greater vigilance in enforcing license laws, the
fact that city officials reacted with surprise to the revelation
speaks volumes about how a widespread local prostitution industry can
keep itself quiet once it leaves the streets.
 While the largest escort services may employ anywhere from 50 to 200
women, small-time operators with as few as two escorts are becoming
more common. No matter what their size, escort services operate very
discreetly. Customers are required to supply references and sometimes
even drivers' license numbers. This caution makes the services
difficult for police to infiltrate.
 It is to the advantage of the new, near-invisible prostitution
outlets that most public morals divisions and vice units operate on a
complaint-only basis. Few stirrings have been heard about the escort
services, which conduct their affairs more quietly than a pizza
delivery service. The one reasonably effective way to get at escort
services and strip clubs, for those cities that wish to, is through
zoning laws. But when these businesses are conducted discreetly, they
receive remarkably few complaints, and it is not always easy to
generate a massive public outcry against them.

Prostitution is still on the street, however, in troubling numbers,
and where it walks, it overwhelms. It overwhelms neighborhood
residents who worry about its effect on children and who fear--
correctly--that it brings in its wake a marked increase in drugs and
drug-related violence. It overwhelms police, who are responsible for
cleaning it up and often feel they have too much else to do to devote
their resources to it.
 According to the National Institutes of Health, about 300 public
safety officers die each year from Hepatitis B contracted in the line
of duty. This is twice the number of officers who are shot or killed
in accidents. Although the toll is spread among firefighters, police
officers and corrections officials, some of these casualties result
from serving on police prostitution details. It is a startling
statistic. And it is one of the reasons why police are casting about
for alternatives to traditional approaches to the problem of street
prostitution.
 "Any law that's unenforceable is a poor law, and prostitution is
unenforceable," argues Gerald Arenberg, executive director of the
National Association of Chiefs of Police. In his view, the health
threat that prostitution currently poses to the public welfare
outweighs any considerations about the morality of the profession.
Although his organization is dedicated to enforcing the laws on the
books, Arenberg says he is not alone in feeling that the time for some
form of legalized prostitution is at hand. "We're not saying have
prostitution without control," he insists. "In the end, what we want
to do is protect the public."
 Given the sensitive nature of the issue, it seems safe to say that
the arguments of Arenberg and a few other police spokesmen in favor of
legalization will not receive much immediate acceptance. At the
moment, prostitution is legal only in a few rural counties of Nevada,
where it has been legal for more than half a century; even there,
officials concede that if the issue were being debated from scratch in
the legislature today, the vote would go against legalization. "We
have a constant battle on our hands to keep what we have," says George
Flint, director of the Nevada Brothel Association.
 There is, however, one major city where the legalization topic seems
to be moving gradually toward acceptable status, and that is San
Francisco. There, the failure of law enforcement to deal effectively
with the prostitution problem in recent years has residents pondering
another line of attack: tolerance.
 Prostitution for all persuasions is rampant in San Francisco, and
entire neighborhoods have become synonymous with sex. Over 2,000
arrests were made last year, and police have cordoned off parts of the
city and swept streetwalkers off the streets. These efforts have edged
prostitution control costs toward $6 million a year.
 But the continued prevalence of street prostitution despite all this
effort has much of the community convinced that San Francisco is not
getting its money's worth. Last year, an organization of residents and
businesses approached County Supervisor Terence Hallinan urging an
open debate on the problem and alternatives to the current approach,
including legalization. "The resources are not there as they were in
the past to suppress it," says Hallinan. "Small businesses are going
under and residents are going crazy."
 Hallinan backs some sort of decriminalization or legalization, but
tall hurdles stand in his way. San Francisco's mayor and former police
chief, Frank Jordan, opposes any relaxation of the laws. So does the
police department. In addition, a change in the city's laws would
require a corresponding change in state law--something California's
legislature would almost surely refuse to approve.

So something like the current trend seems almost certain to continue:
intense and costly efforts by police and communities to control
prostitution by attacking demand; diversion of more and more
streetwalking into the "quiet sector" escort services, modeling
agencies and other entrepreneurial approaches; and a high level of
public anger about the street trade, even as it declines in absolute
numbers.
 Despite widespread dissatisfaction, there is one constituency that
finds the status quo reasonably acceptable: the streetwalkers
themselves.
 Kimberly, a prostitute who plies her trade in Washington, D.C., is
one of them. As traffic edges up 12th Street, she strolls past,
wearing a black bra and a miniskirt underneath a mink coat. Something
in one of the cars catches her attention, and after an exchange with
the driver, she climbs inside.
 Kimberly has been arrested dozens of times, paying a fine and then
going back to work. The police have never made much serious effort to
put her out of business; when they tell her to move, she moves. New
laws enacted in 1992 to hinder customers and allow seizure of their
cars did not make an appreciable dent in Kimberly's business.
 The chances are that before too long, Kimberly will follow a familiar
pattern and give up the streets for an escort business. If all goes
well, she will be moving to Atlantic City for just that purpose later
this year. "I've just got to make it through the winter months," she
says.
 But one thing she does not particularly care about is legalization of
what she does. One way or another, regular customers and perfect
strangers supply her with a comfortable living. Any change in
prostitution laws, she fears, might mean money out of her pocket.
"It's cool like it is now," Kimberly says.

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